It was five weeks ago that Avengers had fought valiantly to bring back to Vanished. It was five weeks ago that Peter Parker had woken on the alien planet Titan and learnt that five years had passed. It was five weeks ago that Tony Stark had died.
Though governments were still in shambles and many people still displaced, for Peter Parker life should have returned to normal. None of his close family or friends had aged five years ahead of him. The Education Board was working hard to integrate those affected by 'the Vanishing' back into school. And, there shouldn't be a reason why he couldn't return to his work as Spiderman. Yet, a deep pit in his stomach reminded Peter that things would never truly be the same.
This pit had been a part of Peter since he was old enough to understand what had happened to his parents. It had shrunken over time but never quite filled. Then, after Uncle Ben's death, it was as if someone had come along with a large shovel and removed everything that time had carefully filled. Peter, as always, had pushed through it. His logically inclined brain knew it was part of the long and painful mourning process. That information didn't comfort him though. And once again, here he was with someone shovelling out his stomach.
Tony Stark had died, and Peter hadn't even tried to do something. In the back of his mind, Peter knew that he couldn't have done anything. He knew that the power of wielding a single Infinity Stone - let alone all of them - was not a feat that a human could accomplish without tearing themselves apart. He knew that the power of the gems had sucked the life out of Tony Stark. Peter knew that no one could have done anything to save the man who had become Iron Man.
But, as aforementioned, those thoughts were at the back of his mind.
At the front, in true Peter fashion, the teenager blamed himself.
Peter had concluded that he must be cursed. Almost everyone he had come to see as family were dead now because of him. His parents who hadn't even made it to their holiday destination - Peter later found out that they were travelling to get a break from their temperamental toddler. Uncle Ben who had been shot by a man that Peter could have caught so easily earlier in the day. And now, Mr Stark was gone too. Peter wondered if the universe was going to take away Aunt May as well.
As the train pulled into his stop, Peter exited the warmth of the carriage into the chill of the overcast day. During the fifteen minute walk, it took from the station to his apartment a slight drizzle started. It wasn't heavy enough to warrant an umbrella, but it didn't stop the weather from even further dampening his mood.
Peter had thought by this point that loss shouldn't affect him as much as what it was now. He had lost so much after all. However, this grief, this guilt felt so much worse than when Uncle Ben had died. It was scary to thing to admit, Peter didn't deny that. It wasn't as if he didn't still grieve for Uncle Ben - Peter doubted he would ever be relieved of that guilt. But this was so much more.
Peter hadn't just taken away an uncle and husband. Due to whatever curse followed him around, he had caused the death of a father, husband, friend. He had been the one responsible for the death of Iron Man.
May had told him that it wasn't, and somewhere in his mind, he knew that to be true. Peter knew his thoughts were illogical, but in some twisted way, it still made sense. If it wasn't his fault, then whose was it? Mr Stark had put so much time and energy into Peter, yet, when it came down to the crunch of things Peter hadn't even tried to repay it. He had stood there as his mentor - as the closest thing he would ever have to a father - had died.
Peter was almost home when his Spider-Sense tingled ever so slightly. He acknowledged the warning but did nothing about it. He couldn't bring himself to care in all honesty.
After all, it would be a just punishment if someone came and killed him.
It was with practised ease that Molke made his way through the human city undetected.
For weeks Molke had been preparing this plan. He had given up so much that he could not dare fail at the most crucial point. Should the protectors of this planet discover his plan, Molke would never reach his goal. He needed to resurrect the Man of Iron and defeat him. He would prove once and for all that he alone was worthy of ruling his people. After all, if he won against a man that not even Thanos could knock down, who would be to say otherwise.
He was so close now. All he needed was the boy.
Even from the few hundred metres away that he was, Molke could still easily see Peter. Excitement pricked through the alien's veins when he confirmed the boy's aura was shining a dull green - the colour of guilt. It was perfect.
Molke doubted with his current mindset that the boy would refuse his request. And if he did, there were other ways to make him submit. A slim part of Molke hoped that boy didn't agree to his request. It was always more interesting when his captives fought against him.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the boy exited the safety of the metal train that Molke had been following. Peter continued to walk with his head down, the green that trailed behind him becoming duller with each step. Silently, Molke followed from the rooftops.
For a fraction of a moment, the boy stopped, something in his body sending out spits of warning red. To the untrained eye, it would never be noticed. Molke's eyes were trained. Panic gripped his heart turning Molke's own aura yellow with anxiety. Had he heard him? It would be impossible, he hadn't made a sound. Just as quickly as he stopped though, Peter continued. His aura turning a dark grey - the colour of deep and inescapable sadness.
With the boy's mood sudden mood change seeming to encourage his plan, Molke jumped for the boy.